Bristly
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. Character spoilers, post ep for Outlaws and In Laws.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Mrs. McTwitter the babysitter, I think she's a little bit crazy. She thinks a babysitter is supposed to sit upon the baby.

Spoilers: _Outlaws and In-Laws _and the season 5 ep _Corporal Punishment_.

Summary: Damon Werth gets something he desperately needs.

* * *

"We could do something to fix your hair."

Damon Werth smiled over his container of Chinese take-out as Ziva picked up the chopsticks he'd dropped on her desk in favor of a much more user-friendly fork. "I think it might be best if I get straight to writing my statement after I finish eating. Gibbs didn't seem too happy we were taking a dinner break."

"Gibbs has other things on his mind," DiNozzo said, grabbing an eggroll from a napkin in front of Ziva and retreating rapidly.

"Tony…"

"Senior agent's stomach gets priority over a probie's."

She waved her hand dismissively as she stood, still holding the chopsticks. Damon noticed DiNozzo watching surreptitiously from behind his eggroll as she moved to stand behind him. The tension on his scalp suddenly released as she untied his hair. "You must be using a good conditioner." He closed his eyes to shut out DiNozzo's glare as she combed through it with her fingers. "Still, I think it looked better…high and dry, is it?"

"High and tight," he corrected with a smile he turned toward her.

She pushed his head straight. "Hold still." A moment later she stepped around him and handed him a mirror. "I think the effect would be better with ribbons."

He grinned at his ridiculous image, which was sporting two buns supported by the chopsticks he now regretted not making the effort to use. "Okay, point taken. I'm seeing the barber as soon as he opens."

"Why wait?"

"What do you…"

"She means that you've presented her with an opportunity to use a knife, which is like throwing chum to a shark." DiNozzo finally took a bite of his stolen eggroll and mumbled, "Right?"

Damon found she was still focused on him. "Only if you would like me to."

He pushed the loose strands behind his ears as she removed the chopsticks in one quick movement. "I figured since I was a merc I needed the right look. Now that I quit…yeah." He suddenly felt less content as he realized he didn't have a job again. "After today, I wonder how many other missions I completed for the wrong reasons."

"It was not your fault," Ziva stated quietly.

"Better off without 'em if stupid haircuts are a job requirement. I guess we should be thankful you resisted the beaded cornrows, at least."

He ignored DiNozzo as Ziva seized his forearm. "Where are we going?"

"We can do it in the bathroom."

She was pulling him with one hand and dragging a chair with the other. His mind started moving a million miles a second, but he was only able to articulate, "Uh…what?"

"There is no reason to put it off and I am almost certain you will feel better once it is done." Her smile was bright and inviting.

"Why…why do we need the chair?"

"So we will be comfortable," she replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Did she do this on a regular basis? Damon glanced over his shoulder as they exited the main room and noted that DiNozzo's fuming lack of surprise was probably a sign.

Of course he'd thought about this, but he'd always imagined a bouquet of flowers and a couple of nice dinners happening first. Things were moving too fast for him to process, a strange sensation for him in and of itself. Maybe if she had given him some indication that she…well, she'd spent the past few minutes playing with his hair, but…it wasn't like he didn't know she was unpredictable. Of all his hazy memories from his steroid-induced fugue, her coming back at him after he'd landed a blow that should have downed a camel was one of the clearest. Had he ever apologized for that?

He lost his concentration again as she shoved through a door and he found they were in the bathroom. A man hurriedly zipped up and ran past them with an embarrassed flush on his face, some of which was hopefully related to the fact that he hadn't washed his hands. Damon knew that this was going to be his last chance to slow things down. "Ziva, I don't know if…"

"Relax. Don't you trust me?"

"Of course, but…"

"Just take off your shirt and sit down."

"No foreplay with you," he muttered under his breath.

"I did not think it was necessary," she whispered into his ear as she pulled his shirt off his arms and pushed him into the chair. "Now…"

"Ziva…" He felt his hesitation crumble as she collected his hair in her fist. His eyes shot open a moment later. "Um…"

"Do not worry." She ruffled the shorter locks now present on his head with the fingers not grasping her knife. "I will clean it up."

The clump of hair she'd just lopped off was soon joined in the garbage by shorter and shorter strands until she was washing the stubble off her knife directly down the drain. Damon spent the entire haircut trying to convince himself that he was a complete idiot for thinking he had a chance with Ziva. He hadn't even managed to get her phone number; she wasn't going to risk her career fulfilling a fantasy he didn't even realize he had until the situation had arisen. Sort of. He continued to watch in the mirror as she stroked his head to ensure that her work was even. "I think…" He made a conscious effort to lower the register of his voice. "I think it looks good."

"Yes, much better."

He grabbed the warm, wet paper towel she was using to wipe his neck and shoulders. "I can…I can manage."

She seemed concerned as he shot out of the chair and turn to look at her directly instead of watching her mirror image. "Damon, I did not mean to…"

"No, I…you did a good job. I think it was long overdue. I felt weird buying those elastic things at the drugstore anyway."

She held out his shirt after pulling it off her shoulder. "I will be in the squad room."

"Ziva?"

"Yes?" She paused at the door.

"Thanks. And I'm sorry I hit you."

"You did not hit me. I was down because of…"

"I mean from…back when I…I'm sorry about the grenade, too, but…"

"It is all right. I will go make sure Tony has not confiscated our fortune cookies." She moved closer for a moment, but his tension proved unwarranted. "I should take McGee's chair back, too."

Damon turned back toward the mirror as the door closed. Even without sucking in his gut, he looked almost as good as he had when he'd left the Corps. He was off the juice so he had been even more conscientious about maintaining himself. He peeked at the door before performing a quick flex. Still…there was probably some regulation barring her from going out with him even if he did ask, as he had been the subject of an official NCIS investigation. He certainly wouldn't question it if that were her excuse for saying no. And if it weren't an excuse, it would probably be for the best if he didn't put her in that situation in the first place. Although there wasn't any more hair dotting his neck, he continued to splash water over his head. He would leave the bathroom, write up his statement and say goodbye, nice to see you. Then he'd just…

"Looks better, Corporal."

"Thanks, Gunny." Damon hurriedly dried himself with a paper towel as Gibbs stood at a urinal. He was pulling on his shirt when Gibbs walked up to the sinks.

"Put on a suit and they might even let you into Bourbon Steak."

"Where?"

"Restaurant at the Four Seasons. I hear good things about it."

"Why would I be eating at the Four Seasons?"

Gibbs shrugged. "She's kinda a steak person." He ran a damp hand through his hair and moved toward the door. "Couple of other places outside the city are good, too. Little more casual."

"Would Ziva…?"

Gibbs shrugged again. "Don't think it'd hurt to try, Corporal. Just don't make a reservation for tonight, because I'm not leaving all that broken glass in my front hallway much longer."

"Of course not, sir. I'd be happy to get to that as soon as I've written out my statement regarding…"

"I think the proper order is statement, conversation, clean-up."

"Agent Gibbs, do you really think…?"

"Yes," Gibbs interrupted, then walked out without another word.

"Okay." Damon gave himself a final once-over in the mirror and returned to the squad room.

Ziva was frisking DiNozzo at his desk. "I want those fortune cookies!"

"And if you find them, you can have them." He suddenly doubled over laughing as she touched a spot on his side. "No fair! Moussad torture techniques are off limits!"

"Knowing where you are ticklish and taking advantage of it does not count as torture."

"I'll still never…top drawer! Top drawer!"

Damon took a seat in his chair beside her desk as she dug through DiNozzo's. "You said they were in one of your pockets."

"And you believed me, proving that you deserve the probie tag for the time being." DiNozzo's grin faded as his eyes moved to Damon. "Well, good morning, starshine. I guess the Age of Aquarius has ended?"

Ziva ran her hand over her head as she passed back to her chair. "I think he looks good."

"Yeah, you'll be sure to pass the hair-dressing portion of your citizenship test."

Damon accepted the cookie with a quiet thank you and the idea that he might be better off going straight from statement to clean-up, especially if DiNozzo's continued glare was any indication. He cracked open his cookie and read the slip of paper inside. "I should probably get to my statement."

Ziva was held out a pad and pen but didn't relinquish her hold on them when he grabbed them. "What was your fortune?"

"Just one of those vague sayings that don't mean anything." He brushed the paper into the wastebasket. DiNozzo announced he was running to the bathroom a few minutes later. Damon gave the fortune another glance and lifted his gaze to Ziva. "Do you, uh, ever have dinner?"


	2. Chapter 2

"He broke my nose! You remember that? And he broke McGee's…well, something! I forget."

Ziva sighed and leaned back in her chair. Tony had started after Damon had left to clean up Gibbs' house and showed no signs of stopping at any point in the near future, making it nearly impossible for her to sleep at her desk for the second time in a week. McGee appeared to be deeply engrossed with his computer, so she said, "I believe it was a dislocated shoulder."

"Oh, only a dislocated shoulder that required a trip to the ER and a sling! Well, in that case I'm sure McGee here will be happy to spring for the nicest crystal set on the wedding registry."

She again looked to McGee for support, but he had ducked down further behind his monitor. "It is _just_ dinner."

"Yeah, and Ohio State-Michigan is _just_ another rivalry."

Four years of partnership had provided her with an extensive education in the nuances of college sports, including never making a wardrobe choice that mistakenly combined blue and gold – no, _maize_ – but she decided that playing dumb could lead to a change of topic. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

She watched him sputter with indignation for a few moments before managing to articulate, "Buckeyes…" A loud sigh followed. "You're never gonna pass your test if you can't remember such basic things."

She pursed her lips. His strange reluctance to have her around, present since she had attained official status on the team, had only been exacerbated by her revelation that she was seeking citizenship in order to keep her job. "Why are you being so negative about my becoming an American citizen?"

He watched her with a stormy expression for a long time before saying smugly, "Hey, think about it this way – when you marry Werth, you won't even have to take the test. You'll just have to answer some questions about what kind of cologne he wears and how often he beats the crap out of federal agents. I'm sure INS will be thrilled to conduct that interview."

"How many times to I have to tell you that we are just having dinner!"

"Uh-huh. He's taking you to a place at the Four Seasons because it's just dinner," he replied, placing the last two words of the sentence in air quotes. "People don't go to hotels for dinner unless they have ulterior motives."

"You and McGee and I had lunch at that place at the Ritz last week when you decided you just had to have that bizarre fish burger!"

"Oh, this from the woman who wouldn't shut up about how good her vegetable thing was!"

"That was not my point – I was trying to say that we ate at a hotel and…"

"Lunch, Probie. Learn the difference between lunch and dinner. People don't go up to their swanky hotel suites and have sex after lunch."

She caught herself before trying to refute this point as well, which was easier to do because she was beginning to feel insulted enough to start searching her top drawer for one of her smaller knives. "Please tell me you are just making a joke that you did not think through clearly."

"Who's joking? I think you'll be dazzled enough by the wine list to agree to see what a room at the Four Seasons looks like, and then things will go from there. At least you know the ex-corporal is doing okay for himself. I guess working as a hired gun for a warlord pays pretty well."

"That is not fair…" The handle of the knife was cold as it pressed against her burning palm, providing a source of calm. She counted to ten in her head, but without allowing her grip to slacken. She took a few deep breaths and she asked, "What is your problem with Damon?"

"You mean besides the fact that he broke my nose before being dishonorably discharged by the Marine Corps for illegal use of steroids? And that thing where he chucked the flashbang through Gibbs' window to take us down in order to kidnap innocent civilians a few hours ago? You want me to have _other_ problems with this guy?"

"He is not…"

"He's not a lot of things," he interrupted, "but I shouldn't act like this is a big surprise or anything. I mean, let's face it, you've got terrible taste in men."

She let go of the knife as she stood and flung what she hoped was a more harmful weapon. "And yet I have never slept with _you_."

"Like. I. Said." He grabbed his coat and walked toward the elevator, saying over his shoulder, "McGee, I'll get you a cappuccino."

She didn't feel bad, just distinctly uncomfortable. "Tony…"

"Probies drink vending machine coffee!" was shouted from the closing elevator doors.

Sinking into her chair, Ziva felt defeated for no clear reason. "What is going on here?"

McGee jumped out of his chair as if the question had not been rhetorical. "I have to go check with Abby about, um, the computer with the, um, software that, um…"

"It is fine if you do not want to take sides, McGee. I just feel as if I am being left to twitch in the wind."

"Um, twist. And…" He struck a few keys and nearly jumped over the partition as he exited, calling back, "Check your email."

"McGee!" Feeling more alone than ever, she was tempted to ignore McGee's suggestion. Three sentences into her latest tedious report she changed her mind. Perhaps McGee had sent her a link to some distracting website about uppity penguins or the like that would occupy her more readily than East Asian threat assessments. She scanned past three interoffice memos before finding the email from McGee, suspiciously titled _Purple Heart_. She clicked after a moment's internal debate and read,

_Enjoy this sneak preview of Thom E. Gemcity's latest work in progress,_ _tentatively titled _Purple Heart_. For this particular portion of the work, the usual disclaimer will not even be presented for the sake of form._

She frowned. Things had to be really strange if McGee were both willingly sharing his literary efforts and making jokes about his source of inspiration. Her cursor hovered over the tiny paperclip attaching a file to the message. Tony was going to be back from his coffee run soon, not that he would talk to her when he did return – or maybe he would go back to talking to the Probie, which was getting to be worse than the silent treatment. She double clicked.

_Lisa heaved a heavy sigh and brushed loose curls behind her ear. The day's workload had not been especially challenging, but it had been copious and monotonous. Her new position as the probationary agent, or Probie, on Tibbs' team involved a lot more paperwork than her previous position as Moussad liaison officer had, especially thanks to Tommy. McGregor, at least, was nice enough to continue filling out his own case reports, perhaps due to his own all too recent memories of being a glorified drudge during his Probie days. Lisa was thankful for his understanding, which had extended to driving her to Ikea to help her pick up heavier-than-they-looked boxes of unassembled furniture for her new apartment and helping her put most of it together. He had really enjoyed the chicken marsala she'd made for him as a thank you meal._

_Her relationship with Tommy had not returned to such a comfortable place after he had planned and executed her rescue from the terrorists holding her at their training camp in the Philippines, with some assistance from Tibbs and McGregor. After a short period of open welcome, Tommy had become cold and sometimes downright harsh. She missed having him as a friend, but she would settle for a civil work environment at this point. _

_The sun had set over three hours before, but he was still sitting at his desk with his feet up, staring at her and making a rude comment to either her or McGregor at a three to one ratio. She had two more to look forward to before McGregor got another and she didn't even feel bad that she was happily anticipating Tommy targeting someone else. For the time being… _

"_How long is that report gonna take you, Probie? I can't sit here supervising you all night."_

"_Nor do you need to."_

"_Not a question of need, Probie, just a matter of fulfilling my responsibility as senior agent. I have to make sure that you complete your assigned tasks in a timely manner. So, nose to the grindstone, go, go, go!"_

"_Tommy!"_

_He sounded less self-confident when he answered, "Yeah, boss?"_

_Tibbs glared over his coffee cup. "If you don't have anything better to do, go home."_

"_Night, boss. Enjoy a 3AM catnap at your desk, Probie."_

_He skipped making another smart remark to McGregor as he walked out, followed shortly afterwards by Tibbs, leaving Lisa alone with McGregor in the squad room. _

_She would have been content to sit in silence, but McGregor piped up, "Tommy can be a real jerk."_

"_I am well aware of that."_

"_I think he's doing it on purpose at the moment."_

"_As opposed to what? Being an accidental jerk?"_

"_I just meant…I'm not defending him. God knows he ticks me off pretty often, but I think the way he's treating you right now is a defense mechanism. You didn't see what he was like when you were away. Every time someone new came in, he chased them out because they weren't like you. He made himself crazy missing you. I think now he's just confused."_

_She rolled her chair over to McGregor's desk. "I do not understand."_

"_He put so much effort into bringing you back here. Now he's acting like it didn't matter, like he never wanted you here to begin with because he's scared of how much he showed he cared. It's a pendulum effect."_

"_Are you saying that it will swing back the other way at some point?"_

_McGregor grinned. "I'm not sure Tommy understands how pendulums work."_

_Lisa stood and moved to roll her chair back to her desk, but leaned over to peck McGregor on the cheek first._

Ziva closed the file, but saved it on her own computer. McGee arrived back in the squad room carrying a coffee cup a few minutes later. "Tony's in the lab talking horror movies with Abby. Did you read it?"

"I did."

"Oh. Well…what did you think?"

"It that really what you think is happening?"

"I'm not sure I got Lisa quite right, but McGregor is perfect." He shook his head with a chuckle. "Well, you know…in terms of character."

She returned his smile and went back to her report, feeling marginally better. He eventually asked, "Do you still need help putting those bookshelves together?"

"Are you free this weekend?"

"How's Sunday afternoon sound?"

"Perfect. How does swordfish sound?"

"Great." He was again the one to break the silence a few minutes later. "He really is happy you're here."

"I wish that he realized it."


	3. Chapter 3

Tony leaned deeper into the minimal shadows at the corner of the bar, even though Ziva wasn't looking in his direction and probably wouldn't be able to see into the lounge unless she grew a giraffe neck. She was paying close attention to what was sure to be a captivating story about how awkward it was finding a buddy willing to inject steroids into your ass during your first week at Parris Island. Tony couldn't imagine Damon Werth having anything else to talk about, unless it was an even less appropriate tale about mowing down insurgents. They could even be swapping torture stories. _Did they use the car battery with you? No, but they did this thing with a sharpened bone – it may have been a human femur – that would make you scream and scream…_

He downed the rest of his martini in one gulp and rapped his knuckles on the bar. The damn things were really overpriced. Or maybe he was just projecting what the cost of drinking them all evening was going to be. It would be so easy to just pay his tab and walk out to one of the cabs lined up along the sidewalk; that would mean admitting to himself that he had taken a cab to the Four Seasons in the first place for fear of drinking so many overpriced martinis that he wouldn't be able to drive himself home. He requested the bar menu when his second drink was delivered. Any place with 'steak' in the name probably had a pretty good hamburger.

He ordered a third drink when he requested a medium rare Angus burger, hoping one of the two would help him feel less like a jerk. This had seemed like such a good idea when he'd left the office. Probies made mistakes; that's why they were probies. That's why they had senior agents around to back them up. He was just there as backup she didn't know she needed, which was really just confirmation that she was a probie – she didn't understand yet that she shouldn't go into certain situations alone, if at all. And not in little black dresses; he'd gotten a really nice look when she'd gone to the bathroom after the appetizer. So why was he hiding like he was ashamed to be there? He was sacrificing his whole evening to make sure she was okay. She was certainly smiling like she was okay. Maybe that was because of the wine. Tony could see a bottle sitting on the table. So that was Werth's plan – get her drunk and take advantage of her. Tony swallowed an olive without chewing it. Damned if he was letting some idiot the Marines didn't want messing with his probie.

The team's probie, he clarified mentally. He didn't have his own probie. She wasn't his. He waited impatiently for his next drink to arrive.

Ziva was managing to look graceful chewing pieces of a 12oz sirloin when he propped his elbows on the bar to support his hamburger. If the thick bun didn't do its job and start soaking up some of the vodka in his stomach before it had a chance to join what was already in his blood, he was probably going to walk right over and join them for dessert. Maybe she'd even let him finish her steak; she always let him have her unfinished sandwiches and other leftovers, even when he didn't try to confiscate them with his senior agent's privilege. She usually ordered things he liked too, though that just meant they had similar tastes.

He raised his hand to catch the bartender's attention, but someone yanked it back. "Slow it down before I have to pour you into the car."

"Uh…boss?"

Gibbs nodded to the bartender and ordered a brandy and a Coke before saying, "What're you doin' here?"

"Oh, y'know. Having a burger and some drinks and being stupid."

"Yup."

Tony chewed his burger thoughtfully, watching Gibbs watch the Caps' game. "Little swanky here for you, huh, boss?"

"Not where I'd prefer to be, if that's what you mean."

"Well, yeah. Oh, I didn't mean that you don't fit in or that you, uh…"

"Shut up and finish your food."

"Shutting up, boss." The alcohol made that even more difficult than usual, so he took an extra-large bite to keep his mouth as occupied as possible.

Gibbs pushed the soda toward him when the two drinks arrived, taking away the unfinished portion of Tony's fourth and apparently final martini. He decided not to protest. "Are you going to ask me how I knew you were here?"

"Well, I…I probably should have thought of that."

"Well?"

Tony blinked in confusion while Gibbs looked at him in expectant annoyance. "Oh, right. How did you know I was here?"

"Got a phone call. She saw you come in. Asked me to come drag you out."

Tony grabbed a napkin and tried to hide behind it, even knowing that it was pointless to pretend he wasn't there. Focusing on the object so close to his eyes was making him dizzy anyway. He leaned slightly to the side, with some effort to stop himself from continuing on to the floor, and saw that she was covering her mouth as she laughed. When was the last time he'd made her laugh like that? "Why am I still alive?"

"Don't be a drama queen, DiNozzo. You haven't had _that_ much to drink."

"Yeah, but Ziva knows I'm here but she's not stabbing me. And you're playing bouncer, but you're letting me finish my food first. When did I fall down the rabbit hole?" He picked up a French fry. "Will this one make me larger or smaller?"

"Ziva asked me not to tell you she was the one who let me know you were here."

"But…why are you telling me if she said not to?"

"Because you're not gonna remember much in the morning, but you're still on the ball enough to realize it's a big deal you're not in the emergency room right now."

Tony tried to reach for his martini, but Gibbs slid it out of his reach. "I'm just watching out for her."

"Werth isn't gonna try anything. Hell, he wouldn't have taken her here if I hadn't come close to ordering him to."

"Boss…you?"

"Don't look at me like that. The longer you pretend you don't care, the more she'll believe it. You think that's really what you want?"

"I know I don't want…that!" He waved an arm in the general direction of Ziva's table, causing an unpleasant vertigo as he struggled to stay on his barstool. "She should have better. He's a mook. And God knows what the drugs did to his junk. Maybe it'll be enough to scare her off, not that I want her getting that far. I should teach her about Shrinky Dinks in case they ask that when she takes her citizenship test."

"Werth's all right." Gibbs finished his brandy. "And I think she mentioned that it was just dinner."

"Uh-huh. And Rivkin was a teddy bear."

"Let it go, DiNozzo."

"I can't just let her go."

"Not what I said."

His attention was drawn to a preview playing during a commercial break. "It's different in movies. The hero rescues the girl and they…well, in movies they don't have rule number twelve, so…" He felt his head swim as Gibbs smacked it.

"You can be a damn coward about this all you damn well please, but you are not hiding behind me."

"But I…"

"You don't even have a knife on you right now, so don't try to tell me you're all about the rules."

Tony patted his pockets. "I've got a comb. That could do in a pinch."

"Just get out a credit card and pay your tab. It's time to go."

"But Ziva…"

"Talk to her once you've gotten over the hangover." Gibbs hauled him off the stool and shoved the receipt at him. His signature came out loopy and misaligned. His walk was the same, taking him in the direction of the dining room until his arm was nearly yanked out of its socket. "This way, DiNozzo."

"What'm I gonna tell her?"

"Don't lead off with your opinion of Werth," Gibbs suggested before grumpily demanding his car from the valet. Tony was fairly certain it was the last thing he said until they arrived at his apartment, which happened surprisingly quickly. "Go to bed and don't call in sick tomorrow."

"G'night, boss." Tony caught himself on the door before shutting it. "And thanks for, uh…"

"Yeah."

"I'm not a coward, y'know."

"Not about most things, no. You're not."

"Uh…"

"Go to bed, DiNozzo."

He made it as far as the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

Damon was stunned. Not only was Ziva wearing a dress and smiling nonstop, but she apparently hadn't eaten since the last time he'd seen her almost two days before. Either that or he had been out of the game long enough for all women to polish off three course meals consisting of large pieces of cow without blinking an eye. It was a good thing he hadn't spent any of the money he'd made working in Iraq, because he might need it if…but that was getting a little ahead of things.

He reached for the last bite of cake and cream on the dessert plate, but his spoon was suddenly blocked. He grinned and went for a different angle, only to be blocked again. "You can't really still be hungry."

She swiped her spoon through half of the small lump. "It is not my fault the food is so good."

"So you're saying we shouldn't have split the tiramisu?"

"No, I think we made the right choice." Her spoon didn't make a sound when she placed it on the plate. "I'm tempted to have another cup of coffee, but I do want to get to sleep at some point tonight."

Damon checked his watch and noted that it was just after ten. Was she hinting that she was done with this date? Was it a date? He hadn't ever really clarified what was happening. He was _okay_ with them just being friends, but it wasn't like he could ask if that's what they were, because then it would get awkward when she thought he was asking for something more. And he would also be okay – more than okay, really – if she did want a relationship with him, though he suspected they would remain just friends. The looks they'd been getting throughout dinner had obviously been questioning why a woman like her was out with a guy like him. They probably thought he was a guy who'd just come into money… He didn't like that scenario much; it made Ziva seem like a gold digger. These other people in the restaurant were idiots if they were thinking that. Probably wouldn't be so confident without their platinum credit cards and…

"Damon?"

"Huh?"

"Are you all right? You seemed…" She lowered her voice and continued, "It happens to me too, sometimes. A sound, a smell, a certain…anything and I…" She shuddered almost imperceptibly. "I know it takes time, and it has only been three months since I…well, it has been over a year for you and…would it be too personal for me to ask if they become less frequent?" She paused again and he was barely able to hear her while leaning toward her as she whispered, "The flashbacks?"

"I only had those because…" He drew back as the waiter delivered the check with an assurance that there was no rush. She was still looking at him expectantly, so he leaned in again. "Ziva, I…you used steroids?"

"No, I thought…I am sorry. You never had PTSD, so there is no reason… You have fully recovered, yes? From both the drugs and the tor-…from your experiences in the Marines?"

"Well, yeah, but why are you asking about PTSD? What happened to you?"

She leaned back in her chair and smiled, arms tightly crossed. "Nothing I can discuss. Or want to discuss."

"I didn't mean to…"

Her smile became more genuine. "It is not your fault. I should not have brought it up. We were having a good time and I had to make it uncomfortable."

Damon handed the check back to the waiter before thinking of something to say. "Hey, I'm surprised we made it this far. Remember, we met because you were trying to catch me after I broke out of a psych ward." It wasn't perfect, but at least it made her laugh. He was really enjoying her laugh. They were back to easygoing banter by the time the waiter returned and she walked close enough for him to smell her perfume as they went into the lobby.

"You should wait in the lobby while I get the car from the valet." He felt his face go red as he attempted to make it sound less like a chauvinist command, "I mean, it's gotten colder and it might take a few minutes to, um, I wouldn't want you to be cold or…"

"Damon, you do not have to drive me home."

"But I…"

"No, really. Dinner was wonderful and I really do appreciate the offer, but I can take a taxi so you do not have to leave just to come back here."

"Why would I…? Oh, I'm not staying here."

"Then why did you pick this restaurant?" She slipped her hand inside his elbow and pulled his arm closer to her body as they walked toward the door. "Not that I am complaining. That was fabulous."

"Yeah. Uh, someone recommended it."

"You will have to thank them."

He smiled, recalling that Gibbs had given him the encouragement needed to get this far. "Yeah." He slipped out of his jacket as they stepped outside and placed it over her shoulders before going to speak to the valet. She sidled up to him while they waited for his car, which he failed to recognize when it arrived. He tried to convince himself it was because it was a rental and not because he was _that_ distracted.

It was a short ride to her place, but Damon didn't think an intentional wrong turn would be easy to fake as an accident. He couldn't be sure she even wanted to spend more time with him at that point. She was quiet now, but for the occasional advice on which street to take. They were at her building before he had come up with anything to start a new conversation.

She was getting out of the car by the time he'd run around it to open her door. "I'll, uh…walk you up?"

At the door of her apartment, she slipped his jacket off her shoulders and handed it back to him, catching his hand in hers as he reached for it. "Would you like to come in and have a nightcap? Is that the correct term?"

"I, uh…" He remembered his earlier misinterpretation when she'd taken him to the bathroom to cut his hair. This seemed a little less ambiguous, but there was no need to take an unnecessary risk when the evening had gone so well to this point. Why did this have to be so damn confusing? He pulled his jacket on reluctantly, though he knew it was the best decision he could make. "I should probably go, but…could I call you? I, uh, I'm leaving in a few days to visit my parents, but maybe we could have dinner again or something before…"

She cut him off, "I would love to. Let me give you my home number so you do not have to call the office."

"Oh, yeah, I…uh…" His phone beeped angrily. "I'm not good with this thing, but…"

"Let me." She didn't comment on the fact that two of the seven numbers programmed into the memory were hers as she quickly entered a third number where he could reach her. His fingers brushed against hers as he took the phone back from her. "Thank you again for dinner. I really did have a nice time."

"Oh, yeah. Well, goodnight."

Her lips brushed lightly against his cheek. "Goodnight, Damon."

There was a whiff of vanilla, different from her perfume, as she opened her door and he fought the urge to follow her in. He did, however, notice a bouquet of flowers dying quietly in a vase on her hall table and kicked himself for not remembering to stop at the florist before picking her up.

Next time.


	5. Chapter 5

Ziva set her cell phone on the kitchen counter. It wasn't yet too late to make the call, but she hesitated. She decided to change first. She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn heels, but it wasn't that hard to remember why she didn't make a habit of it. She smiled as she remembered the Moussad 'training' on running in heels, which had consisted of a female officer explaining that you take off your shoes before you start chasing someone, then giving the group the rest of the hour to practice on the target range. They'd also received the helpful hint of never wearing a shoe with an ankle strap; the last time she had ignored this, she'd never had a chance to run, as the bomb had exploded before…

She shook her head violently. That was all she needed. Occasional flashbacks from one traumatic event were bad enough. She was avoiding Africa in the future, that was for sure.

Kicking off her strapless heels, she reached back to unzip her dress, one of two she owned at the moment. If she had a third dinner with Damon, she was going to have to go shopping. Or suggest they go somewhere casual. Perhaps she could also figure out exactly what she was doing with him. It was true that she cared about him, but she wasn't sure how much potential there was for a long term relationship. The feeling she'd had in her stomach when she'd seen Tony sneak into the restaurant's lounge seemed to indicate that Damon was going to remain a friend, unless that had been a response to the appetizer, which she'd been enjoying to that point. She laid the dress on the bed she hadn't bothered to make that morning.

When she had pulled on a pair of pajamas and washed her face, she found she was out of excuses not to make the call. Still, she stared into the refrigerator for a while before selecting a bottle of juice and spent another few minutes drinking it. Once she was finished, she tried to convince herself that she had enough recyclables collected to merit a trip downstairs, but there were only four bottles and a can in the bucket. She grabbed her phone with a sigh and made her way to the sofa as she dialed.

After two rings, she heard a clear, "Yeah?"

"Gibbs."

"Huh. You're home already?"

"You took Tony too seriously. He never listened when I told him it was just dinner."

"You two have a good time?"

"He followed me so he could spy on me! What do you think?"

"I was talkin' about you and Werth."

She blinked, glad Gibbs was not in the room to see the expression on her face. "Oh. We had a nice meal and conversation."

"I told DiNozzo you knew he was there."

She wasn't sure why she had expected more small talk, especially from Gibbs, but she certainly hadn't expected a betrayal of confidence. "You said you would not…"

"He needed to know. And he got that it was a big deal."

"Which part? That you…"

"Don't start with me. I'm not getting in the middle of this no matter how bad the two of you want me to. I went and got him tonight because that's what was best for him, but you two need to start talking to each other. Work it out. Now." Gibbs continued when she couldn't find a response, "Or at least once DiNozzo's had a chance to sleep it off."

Her concern suddenly overrode her frustration. "Did he…did he have a lot to drink?"

"There were five martinis on his tab."

"I will…"

Gibbs interrupted, "You seemed a little pale this afternoon."

"Excuse me?"

"Heard there was some virus goin' around. And DiNozzo grabbed that half-eaten piece of pizza right out of your hand at lunch. He may have it too."

"Gibbs, I feel fine, and Tony…"

"Take the damn sick day, Ziver."

"I…" she felt like a probie for the first time as she realized what was happening. "I will see you on Thursday, then?"

"Yeah. Night."

"Goodnight."

She snapped her phone shut and wondered when she had last heard Gibbs say so many words at one time. That meant he considered things serious. Although she was still slightly angry that he had revealed to Tony that she had been the one to out him, there was also a sense of relief. Tony would have to talk to her if Gibbs were giving them orders to work things out. Hopefully. At the very least, she wanted to know exactly where they stood.

She threw a box of jasmine tea into her bag, but discovered that she didn't have any limes.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony rolled over in bed, which would have seemed strange if the pain in his head didn't provide a suitable distraction. If his head felt this terrible and he tasted puke…oh, crap. He tentatively felt around his body, but didn't find a telltale damp, chunky spot. That was a good sign. He expanded his search and found…

"Stop groping me and go back to sleep."

His hand remained where it was, but his brain managed to leap out of his head and smack against the ceiling before smashing back into his head. God, he needed an aspirin. He thought he was NCIS Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, but the only logical explanation for the voice and the body in bed with him was that he was actually ex-Marine Corporal Damon Werth. Strange, because Little Tony didn't seem to be suffering from any after effects of steroid use, so…he ceased his tactile examination before it go too involved to ask, "Who am I?"

"Tony, it is early and you kept me up late. Go back to sleep."

He wanted to demand a complete explanation for why he was waking up with a woman who had called in the big dog on him when she'd caught him being a peeping Tony the previous night. He wanted to know how he'd gotten out of his suit and into nothing but sheets. He wanted to order her to tell him why she was wearing his favorite Ohio State t-shirt and – his hand slid over her hip and down her leg – nothing else. He said, "Huh?"

She shoved his hand away before saying, "I knocked on the door. When you did not answer, I let myself in. Based on how loudly you were snoring, I decided that you had had too much to drink for me to bother waking you, so I went to sleep."

He struggled to form a timeline of the previous night. Gibbs came to save him from himself, dragged his ass home and…and… "I thought I was on the couch."

"You were. You wandered into the bathroom at two-thirty and vomited for awhile. I checked on you and you decided you were comfortable on the floor beside the toilet, so I threw a blanket over you and went back to bed. Then you stumbled in to join me around four."

He was careful to make statements and not questions. Questions would probably just make his head hurt more. "And you just…stayed in bed. With me."

"I was here first."

"It's _my_ bed."

"Fine, I will go put some water on."

"No, wait!" His struggle to understand what was happening was superseded by a more concrete goal as he grabbed at her and caught an arm. "You're nice and warm." He inhaled deeply as he buried his face in her hair. "And you smell good."

"At least one of us does."

He allowed himself a few more deep breaths before asking, "How did I get naked?"

"No idea. You were fully clothed when I checked on you in the bathroom. I took off only your shoes, belt, tie and watch."

"Uh, thanks?" He'd been right earlier; questions made his head hurt. He didn't think it could get much worse, so he asked, "Shouldn't you be with Werth right now?"

"I am not going to sleep with him. Happy?"

"I…" He suddenly felt bad admitting that, yeah, it did make him deliriously happy that she didn't have any intention of letting that loser ex-jarhead spoon her in bed, like he was doing now… He lost his train of thought as he snuggled against her, nearly forgetting his crippling hangover. Little Tony took over all the thinking duties as he pulled her body tighter against him. "Ungh…" He was suddenly pinned on his back.

"I said, go back to sleep." She didn't respond positively to his happy groan. "What?"

"You're on top."

"And you're a pervert."

"Hey, you're the one sleeping in my bed in nothing but my t-shirt." He let his hands perform some quick reconnaissance. "And a thong."

"Stop that."

"Can't help it." He pressed his luck further as his hands crept up her back. "Oh, Ziva…"

Her weight pressing him into the mattress suddenly became less comforting, though no less exciting. "Tony…"

"So get off me." He regretted saying it, as he had to chase her to the other side of the bed a moment later. "No, don't go…"

"Just stay where you are. I will be back in a few minutes."

He kept his eyes open long enough for her bare legs to disappear down the hallway. Scooting further over, he occupied her vacated space, enjoying the warmth and scent she'd left behind. Werth would never appreciate this, even if he had the opportunity, which he never would. Tony wrapped his arms around the pillow, pushing his face deeper. It was going to be a while before he changed these sheets. If he ever fell asleep in her bed, is this how it would smell and feel? He liked that idea, not that it could happen. Still…

He enjoyed the scent of the pillow until Ziva returned and pushed him back toward his side of the bed. Why did he suddenly have a 'side' in his own bed? "Drink this."

"Uh, thanks, but…" He inhaled a less welcome scent from the hot mug she had shoved into his hands. "Oh, I don't think so."

"That was not a request."

He made a face at what he suspected was some kind of tea, but with Ziva looming over him, he decided not to fight too hard. His hangover made a full-on argument out of the question, anyway. A tentative sip told him he'd at least be able to keep it down. "Satisfied?"

"Keep drinking. It will make you feel better." She sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking her legs under the covers after a moment and leaning against the headboard beside him. "And I had to go to the market at midnight for the limes."

"Is this your crackpot hangover cure?" It wasn't that bad, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"Just finish it."

"I'm not saying it's terrible, I just don't know why you're drinking it too, unless you're…hey! How come you got coffee?"

She shrugged. "Because I am not hungover. Your coffee pot came on by itself while I was making your tea and I did not think it should go to waste."

Tony nearly dumped the remaining contents of the steaming mug into his lap. He risked a look at the clock, forcing himself not to jump when it confirmed the new feeling of nausea in his stomach. "We're gonna be late! Gibbs is gonna kill me!"

"We are taking a sick day," Ziva answered calmly, raising an eyebrow as he leaped out of bed.

"What's this we? Gibbs told me that I…at least I think he told me I couldn't call in sick."

"When I spoke to him last night, he said that we were to take the day off and work things out between us."

That was…weird. Gibbs was telling them it was cool to break rule twelve? Had that come up the previous night? Tony wanted to bring both hands to his head, but he was still holding his mug in one. He settled for covering his eyes. "What…what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that we have time to figure that out." She was watching him closely as he brought his hand away from his eyes. "Now either put on some clothes or get back under the covers and finish your tea."

"Uh…" He climbed back into bed and resumed his position, sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. "So…"

"Is your problem specifically with Damon, or would you behave like this with any man I choose to date?"

Of course she was cutting right to the chase. "I thought you said we had all day. And that it wasn't a date."

"I said it was just dinner, never that it was not a date."

"You kiss him?" Tony asked resentfully, wishing her hangover cure wasn't working so well so he could hold that against her too.

"On the cheek. Does that bother you?"

"No," he lied.

"Tony…"

"Fine. I don't like the guy. He's violent and dangerous and…and… no good."

"So you problem _is _with Damon."

"Damn right it is."

"And you would not behave like this if it were someone else?"

"Uh…" He sipped his tea to buy himself more time. It was far too early for him to play it cool. "Would depend on the someone else."

"I see. So the next time I meet someone, I should send them out with you first so you can approve of him?"

"Sounds inconvenient."

"Yes, it does. Do you have a better solution?"

Her gaze was fixed on him, offering him no chance to equivocate further. She was going to make him ask. "You, uh, could date me?"

"Oh?"

"Well, then I'd be sure you weren't out with some jerk who wasn't, uh…well some other jerk, anyway." He placed his empty mug on his nightstand and turned on his side to face her. "And where else are you gonna find a guy who'll chase you to Somalia even though you're supposed to be dead?"

She turned to him bodily. "There are two others in our office."

"But you're not wearing an MIT shirt or sleeping in a boat in the basement." He reached out and caressed the skin on her arm, just underneath the edge of her sleeve. "Should I read into that?"

"Tony, we have known each other for four years and you have rarely given me an indication that you want to see anything below the surface, and sometimes that you do not even want to see what is directly in front of you."

"You're in front of me now." His fingers traced a path up her arm, shoulder and neck to her cheek. "Is it really this easy?"

"If we let it be."

"Which is gonna be the problem."

"Tony…"

He stopped her from pulling away. "Hey, I just meant…it's never gonna be perfect. I just wanna make sure that's out there."

"Who expects any relationship to be perfect?"

He secured one arm around her waist, being careful to keep a fold of the sheet between their bodies. No need to make all the moves at once. "So this is a relationship now?"

"Not if you insist on…"

He cut her off with a long kiss and tasted coffee and… "Did you eat my Danish?"

"You want to talk about pastry now?"

"I'm trying to get my mind off…well…" He aimed a significant look downward. "We do have all day to talk, right?"

He felt the fabric of his favorite t-shirt against his chest instead of the sheet. "Only if you can agree, right now, and not just because you want sex, that this is serious and that you will not always treat it like a joke."

"I…" He met her eyes, not knowing what to say. "I meant what I said when…about…when you were gone, I really…I just don't want to live without you."

His shirt was suddenly on the pillow by his head. "I only ate half the Danish."

He smiled as her hands stroked the stubble along his jaw. "That's reason number eighty-three this is going to work."

"What are reasons one through eighty-two?"

"We may have to take another sick day tomorrow."

The End


End file.
